


Jeeves and the Rum Errands

by Saylee



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/Saylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie keeps sending Jeeves out on increasingly silly and impossible errands so he can masturbate alone in the flat. Too bad Jeeves is impossibly fast at running impossible errands, and Bertie gets caught. Written for the ohidosay kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Rum Errands

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Дживс и подозрительные поручения](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205493) by [Dreaming_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_Cat/pseuds/Dreaming_Cat)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Дживс и странные поручения](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965040) by [sige_vic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sige_vic/pseuds/sige_vic)



It’s an entirely rum thing, the way certain feelings can hit a fellow right out of the azure, leaving everything askew, rather as if one were named Alice and one’s looking glass were behaving oddly. In my case, the feeling was remarkably similar to the startling sensation of plummeting into the Drone’s swimming pool in full evening-dress, only decidedly warmer – still, it rather knocked the breath out of me. Looking back on it, the precipitating incident, if that’s the word I want, was insignificant – a certain twitch of the Jeevesian eyebrow, and suddenly I found myself quite unable to do anything but gape like a shocked haddock and turn several shades of red.

‘Are you quite alright, sir?’ Jeeves asked, noticing my distress. Ever perceptive, my man; though on this occasion, I fervently hoped he was only perceiving the distress north of the Wooster neck, and not that below the belt. I gurgled some sort of affirmative – I was not about to tell him that I was certainly not alright, due to suddenly picturing him twitching that eyebrow while wearing considerably less – and to my relief, he seemed willing to take my response at face value.

‘Very good, sir. If there is nothing else, sir, I was about to do the marketing.’

‘Oh, right ho,’ I said, finding my voice at last, ‘Carry on, Jeeves.’

Moments later, I heard the door shut behind the man, and it took me only two shakes of a lamb’s – on second thought, let’s leave innocent baby animals out of it, what? – it took me only two ticks to have my trousers and pants down around my knees, and to take myself in hand. It says something to the state of my agitation that I didn’t even think to retreat to somewhere more private; almost anywhere would have been a better choice for this than the sofa, but once the image of my naked valet had suggested itself to my mind, it had become lodged there and joined by its many carnal friends, each fruitier and more arousing than the last, and all featuring my inimitable man. I squeezed and twisted and stroked in near desperation, my free hand flailing about to clutch at the back of the sofa, at my hair, at anything I could reach.

As a series of shamefully unmanly whimpers escaped my lips, it occurred to a small rational part of me to worry what Jeeves would say if I were to ruin my suit in this manner. I fumbled for a handkerchief, and found one just in time, as the idea of Jeeves discovering what I was doing pushed me over the edge.

I lay there, gasping as if I had run a marathon for some time, until reason returned and I realised that my position was not one in which I would want to be found. Leaping like a scalded cat, I hurried to set myself to rights. I buried the soiled handkerchief in the wastepaper basket and prayed Jeeves wouldn’t notice. I had only just flung myself back upon the sofa, Rex West novel in hand, when the door opened, and Jeeves floated in, brimming basket in hand, and chiselled features rather pink from the cold. I tried for nonchalant, but am afraid I ended up in the realm of gaping haddocks again as the man shrugged off his overcoat, and hung it up along with his hat. I quickly buried my face in my book.

 

Prior to my little revelation, no lascivious thoughts of Jeeves had crossed my mind, but now that the idea had occurred to me, I couldn’t shake it, and the more I thought on it, the more it made perfect sense to me. The man was a paragon of perfection, after all. Of course I would want him. I already thought of him as ten kinds of topping, and from there it was only a hop, a skip and a stumble to think of him being on top of me.

I could have settled in contentedly enough for a spate of longing, if it hadn’t been for the man himself. Now that I knew, I was constantly aware of his presence, and his every action took on new and wonderful dimensions. It was all I could do to ignore the fantasies that swam into my mind every time he so much as breathed in my direction, and to keep him from noticing the embarrassing problem that would arise. In a great show of tenacity, I managed to last until an hour before luncheon the next day, when I finally broke and seized on a pretext to send him out of the flat so I could give myself the release I so desperately desired.

‘Cigarettes, Jeeves,’ I gasped, tearing my gaze from its rapt contemplation of his pinstripe-clad bottom as he dusted.

‘Sir?’

‘Cigarettes. Turkish. I require them. Be a good fellow and biff over to the tobacconist’s for them, would you, Jeeves?’

He gave me a soupy look. ‘The flat is adequately supplied with cigarettes, sir, both Turkish and  
Virginian.’

‘Yes, well,’ I waved an airy hand, ‘You never know when there’ll be a shortage, what? Best to stock up on them now, just in case.’

‘Very good, sir.’

He biffed off on his errand, and I biffed into the bedroom, slumping against the door, and fumbling with my flies. I imagined his voice in my ear, smooth and dark, saying ‘Very good, sir,” as he stroked me. I pulled myself off feverishly, not having much time, as the tobacconist’s was not nearly far enough away. The heat and tightness in the pit of my belly grew, and I heard the front door to the flat open, and Jeeves’s quiet, ‘Sir?’ and I threw the back of my head into the door with a thump. ‘Oh Lord, oh Lord,” I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as I spilled over my fist.

Over the following days, I came up with ruse after ruse to send Jeeves out of the flat, giving me my quality alone time with my fist and my thoughts of him. On Wednesday, I sent him out for a birthday gift for my Aunt Agatha (‘Ought to get it well in advance, I think, Jeeves.’). On Thursday, it was a stuffed koala for my youngest niece, in India. Friday, in a fit of madness, I asked him to bring me Rosie M. Banks’s latest (‘And have a good browse for yourself while you’re there, old chap.’). His soupy looks on being sent on these errands gave way to an enquiring tilt of the brow, which gave way into what I should have realised was a worrying smugness.

As it was, I thought nothing of the self-satisfied thingness that seemed to surround him as I sent him out on Saturday to purchase a unicycle, except that there was something in it that drew me to him like a magnet. I had no real desire for a unicycle, of course, but it was the first thing that had popped into my head, and if I never rode the thing, Jeeves could just chalk it up to a whim of mine that passed as quickly as it came. In any case, finding a unicycle should take him a good long time, and with that in mind, I decided to do the thing properly. I shucked my clothes, even taking the time to fold them so there would be no suspicious wrinkles, and stretched out on the bed with a low hum of pleasure.

I ran my hands leisurely over the bare skin of my chest and sides, pausing to tweak a nipple, then wrapped my hand around my cock in a lazy caress. My eyelids fluttered shut and my toes curled in the bedclothes, and I began a slow, steady tease, basking in the warmth of my arousal. I didn’t hear the door to the flat open or close, or the door to the bedroom, but something must have alerted me that I was no longer alone, because my eyes opened and Jeeves was standing there in the doorway staring at me, his look neither shocked nor disgusted, but hungry and with a great deal of that same self-satisfaction from earlier.

‘Jeeves, what?’ was all I managed to say, because he was gliding toward me.

‘Do you require any assistance sir?’ he asked, and his voice held that dark, smooth note of my  
imaginings. I could only stare at him dumbly, but he must have understood, because he was looming over me, and batting my hand away from my cock, replacing it with his strong, sure grip. I groaned and fell back against the pillows and he made a satisfied kind of noise in the back of his throat and bent to nibble at my neck. This must have wrung another noise from me, because I felt him smile against my skin and murmur, ‘Very good, sir,’ before biting down gently on the spot where my pulse leapt.

After that, it was all so bally marvellous, that I don’t entirely remember what happened. In my mind it was all large warm hands and wet mouth and broad shoulders. At some point I managed to get his trousers open, and wrap my hand around the length of him, stroking in counterpoint to the rhythm he set on me, and I’m pretty sure it was me who buried my other hand in his hair to pull his mouth to mine. The feel of his tongue in my mouth, and a certain twist of his wrist brought me off, my shout muffled in his mouth. Through the haze of my orgasm, I managed to keep up my side of the deal, and it wasn’t long before he was coming off in my hand with a long, low groan.

Some time later, as we shared a post-coital gasper from my stockpile, a thought occurred to me.

‘I say, Jeeves,’ I began, ‘I know you’re a marvel, and a paragon, and all, but how in blue blazes did you manage to find a unicycle so quickly?’

He took a drag off the cigarette before leaning over to peck me on the lips. I beamed up at him, and gratefully took the offered gasper.

‘Upon reflection, sir, I did not feel that a unicycle in the flat would be prudent. I hope, under the circumstances, that you can forgive me.’

‘You blighter,’ I said, poking him gently in the ribs, ‘You had no intention of purchasing the thing in the first place. Admit it, you only left the flat in order to come back and catch the young master in the act, didn’t you?’

He quirked a smug eyebrow at me and if I hadn’t already been Wooster jelly in his arms, that would have done it.

‘I do endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.’


End file.
